Takings

"Who's been taken from you?"
Leeka and Aisha asked
as we walk to my house
after school today.

I took them home to do
homework, give them a snack
as my first official duty
as mentor.

"Who's been taken?
You know, not from
getting old or dying regular
but taken away with a gun
or something."

No one, I say.

"No one? Really?"

To have a conversation
about not if
you've lost someone to violence
but how many people you've lost
with two eleven year olds
makes you pause.

"I think the world is really good,"
Leeka says, "and really bad too."

Yeah, I say.

Because there should not be
so much grief
in one neighborhood,
in one city
there should not be children
who know so many murders
that it is normal

the world tilts on its side
in the sky
the planets are falling
but the street
thinks there's nothing
unusual

Poetry Magic

Kendia put a Kick Me post-it
on Tia, Teya hit Kendia
after dance because
Kendia told her she had a
beady head, Tia called
Teya "ugly face"

this scrappy little trio
is always alternating
between love and hate,
all of them reading below grade level
all of them frustrated learners to some degree
carting around a dictionary sized
book of sad stories

and so it came to be
when asked to choose
their favorite poem
they picked three

one each

adding hand claps
dance moves
beats
and a ribbon standing in
as a jump rope

maybe they should
open the United Nations
with a poem
that everyone chants together

they can take turns
thinking who makes
up the beat
and who holds the jump rope

it might just work

September

I have nine more credits to my name
after this long summer
as I begin another three.

The school garden has grown wild
with neglect as I've left
the tangled growing things
to their own devices

I look back over my shoulder
wishing for a last swim
or salty beach walk
all those perfect nectarines.

This week I started school
the new faces mixed in with the old
as we try to learn each other
at the beginning of this long journey
marked by clean erasers and empty
notebooks

There is so much possibility.

I promise myself I'll be endlessly patient
keep my desktop neat
find the pathway for each girl I teach
so they fall in love with reading.

By November, these intentions will probably
be knotted like our tomato vines

But this is September

I hang up the note Teya wrote me
the second day of school
the one with almost every word spelled right
and the heart at the bottom
with the word you inside.
Because I helped her through a sichuashon.

This will be my sustenance
after a long day
remind me of the possibility
of September.

Baltimore Stories

It has been one of those weeks where I have been overwhelmed by what my kids deal with on a daily basis. I continue to admire their tenacity and perseverance and wonder why it sometimes feels so helpless to be and adult without any answers.

Baltimore Stories

Two weeks ago
a car flipped Teya
off her bike
in her pink nightgown
when she dashed
out without checking

One week ago
she shared in morning circle
I don’t have a mommy anymore
she’s in prison

On Friday
she was in court
to testify against her brother’s friend
because she witnessed him with drugs
she was back in school by eleven
my granma was fussin’ with the judge
she confided she don’t want me talkin’

I don’t want her talking either

But this is just one brick
in the crumbling walls
criss-crossing the city
only a mile from the
shine of the Inner Harbor

This is just one daughter
of the city
one voice of the small multitude

Teya lives three short blocks
from my house
but I could live on the moon
the milky way
resting between us

My Favorite Conversation so Far This Week

I held my breath as I came back to the greenhouse, hoping the plants would not all be dead. They were not. However there was a potato plant growing out of the worm bin and a large family of fruit flies. Despite instructions not to touch the worms, the overzealous waterers had removed the lid making it a tad dry for the red wigglers while providing plenty of air and sun to sprout a new potato. We planted the potato plant in soil, added some wet newspaper and the world's greatest pet(s) survived like true champions. While trying to resuscitate...

Leeka: Can worms eat cheese?
Me: No, no cheese. Only fruits and vegetables. And egg shells and coffee grounds.
Leeka: Is that because worms are lactose intolerant?

Poetry Thursday: The Beginning of Wonder

This week's Poetry Thursday prompt is to use an image as inspiration for a poem. I've been taking a lot of pictures at school to document our greenhouse transformation. We've started some urban gardening worm composting and I love seeing my city kids find touchpoints to nature. This is a rough, rough draft at a poem...right now the picture is about as much poem I have energy for. I guess this is my attempt at a composting poem.

















this is the beginning of wonder

that we could throw our lunch
into the grainy soil of the Earth,
where she will hold it in her round belly
chewing it over days and months
spitting it out
as new dirt

The Day in Numbers

We just finished our last day of testing. A snapshot, with inspiration from Harper's Index.

Kids who cried: 4
Cups of water spilled: 1
Granola bars eaten: 15
Pieces of gum chewed: 28
Appearances by Supergirl (aka Brooke wearing pink sunglasses and sweatshirt cape): 1
Headaches: 2
Songs we thought of with the word love in it: 7
Kids who hate school pizza: 3
Food for worms: 20 ounces
Times danced the Tooty-ta-ta: 2
Times danced old school soul train before sounding like elephants: 1
Times said I hate this test: 24
Times said You want me to fail this test so you can keep me back with you next year: 1
Times said I know it's hard, but if you don't know what to do, make a guess: 132 (okay, rough estimate)
Injuries in gym: 2
Talks in the hallway to work out a friendship problem: 2
Double-doubles in morning circle: 5
Slides across the floor during break: 6
Plants watered: 21
Deep breaths taken when it's all over: 14 + 1 teacher

Poetry Thursday: Ten

This has been a long week. THE TEST has started and the worms have arrived and yesterday the AIDS people returned to hand out prizes and pamphlets.

After an endless morning of coloring bubbles we tried to coast through the afternoon. At 4:00 we reported to the gym to hear a twenty-one year old woman speak about her experience with AIDS.

I'm off my medicine, she proclaimed. I'm tired of taking it.
I wake up every morning and hate what I see in the mirror.

The test weary audience was glazed over with only a few giggles when things like anal sex and vaginal fluid came up.

Then it was time to go around to tables set up with brochures and pamphlets and tablets and pencils...all the things a bunch of kids will lap up like a treasure. They were handed shiny red bags to hold all their paper. Just as they were leaving, a teacher discovered that there were also condoms. Handfuls of condoms: strawberry and lime, female and ribbed...our ten year olds had strips of condoms piled in their bags.


















I am not opposed to educating kids about contraceptives but I do think it's important to actually educate them, not throw them in a bag and hand it to them like candy. ("I want a piece of candy!" one first grader whined while passing by) And I think ten is too young. It's already the beginning of crossing out of childhood. No one wants a bag full of condoms with that.

And so, I share this recently discovered poem by Billy Collins. I keep reading the last two stanzas over and over again because they are that perfect.


On Turning Ten

The whole idea of it makes me feel
like I'm coming down with something,
something worse than any stomach ache
or the headaches I get from reading in bad light--
a kind of measles of the spirit,
a mumps of the psyche,
a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul.

You tell me it is too early to be looking back,
but that is because you have forgotten
the perfect simplicity of being one
and the beautiful complexity introduced by two.
But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit.
At four I was an Arabian wizard.
I could make myself invisible
by drinking a glass of milk a certain way.
At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince.

But now I am mostly at the window
watching the late afternoon light.
Back then it never fell so solemnly
against the side of my tree house,
and my bicycle never leaned against the garage
as it does today,
all the dark blue speed drained out of it.

This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself,
as I walk through the universe in my sneakers.
It is time to say good-bye to my imaginary friends,
time to turn the first big number.

It seems only yesterday I used to believe
there was nothing under my skin but light.
If you cut me I could shine.
But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,
I skin my knees. I bleed.

-- Billy Collins

Green

One of the things that I love about teaching, is that you never know when you will stumble into a new adventure.
















We have a small greenhouse at the school that has never been used and last year I wrote a grant to get it up and running. I know next to nothing about growing and planting things. My thumb is not green and I've killed more plants than I can count. But that has not stopped me from taking on a project I perhaps should better leave to someone with more experience. After a big cleanup, we got to growing things. The sun is pouring in and we're watering every day, it was a relief to see sprouts on Tuesday morning. Then I ordered 1,000 worms off the internet so we can begin composting...something else I know nothing about.


















Green

we hold the seeds in our palms
hard brown specks

we can’t believe their potential
can’t believe this is the beginning
of life

that this knobby lint
will poke out
of the earth in green

could any other miracle
be this simple?

Poetry Thursday: Knowing Things

My poem is not on topic for this week's Poetry Thursday. This was inspired today after a conversation I had at school. Perhaps a bit more narrative than poem but here's what I have for today.

Knowing Things

Brooke looked up from
The The Popcorn Book today
to ask if she could
write a letter to the president.

She had a question about popcorn.

Do you think the president
is the best person to ask
about popcorn? I asked.

Well he’s the president.
He should know things.

I couldn’t argue with that.

I wanted this spring hope
of writing a letter to the people
most-in-charge
because they had sat
around a table, drinking
strong coffee and figuring
out the world--
global warming
education
peace
popcorn.

I’d write letters
with questions
and watch the mail
like an old-timey sailor
counting the days
to shore.

But it is only us
with our fathoms
of unknowing
anchoring us to
this mantle of earth
trying to peer
over the side
of the world.

Turn Around Luck

Morning.

Teya throws up in the middle
of opening circle.
Nell knocks over her
pink cup full of water.
The phone keeps whining
for attention...
the normal daily attendance
but then explaining Tyra
has to leave early and
Teya will be back to class
her grandmother wanting her
to stay longer and then
Ms Emily?
Yes!
Pick up.
Yes?
The boot. They're putting the boot
on your car.

There have been times
when I've had parking tickets
scattered through my life unpaid
when this would not be wholly unexpected.
Today I could think of no ignored bills.

Someone comes to watch my class,
I run downstairs.

The social worker is trying to stall
the booters, but it's already on.
Why did you put the boot on? I ask
What should I do?
Parking tickets they mumble. Call that number
they point to the orange signage
tacked to my car.

Back upstairs I dial while my class reads.
Your call will be answered in 29 minutes
the line drones. I can't think of
29 minutes I'll have together in this day
to wait for answers.
I hang up.

Daya knocks over her water.
Teya goes to the bathroom
and throws up again.

Ms. Emily? the phone calls again.
Yes?
Can you pick up?
Yes.
They took it off. They came back and
it's gone.

The day sommersaulted
over a zigzag morning
into a green afternoon.

In Which We Take on Things Bigger Than Ourselves

Six weeks.
Six long weeks.

We wrote our fast food
anti-McDonalds play
and rehearsed it
into oblivion.

We learned lines
and practiced
keeping our faces
to the audience
(I was known to cackle
I'm looking at your back!
your back! your back! your back!)

We made backdrops
out of crayon and paper
and stuck it to the wall,
empty cups and Big Mac wrappers
served as props

After three days of ice and snow
they took the stage
giggly and nervous
hoping their lines would be funny
crossing their fingers
they wouldn't say the wrong thing
when the boys were in the audience

loaded with helpful tips
I gleaned from drama class
in high school sophomore year

sometimes we find ourselves in places
where a hundred other people
could do a better job
so we lean on what we know
say the lines, make a set with crates
and hope it's enough


















Our cast photo

From Greensboro

The twins stopped by to say hello and happy new year
and tell about Lawanna, who is popular, and Lawanda,
who is not and about the knife Lawanda brought to school
and the ten days of suspension and all the books
they haven’t been reading ‘cause they do worksheets instead.

I shake my head and say, “You KNOW better.
Don’t ever take a knife to school, do you know what could
happen?” I scold and fuss, purse my lips
imagine their story a sharp documentary—
compelling characters and one bad choice.

They know, they know, they know it was a bad idea
for Lawanda to hold it for Lawanna who was just going
to show it to some other girl and scare her. Of course they know
but they are newly thirteen
they could balance the world on the tip of a finger
their hearts purple and brave
and this, their only protection.

There is only today
bright and strong
without tomorrow.